


On Thin Ice

by DizzyRedhead



Category: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, First Time, I Don't Even Know, Liam is a Brat, Liam is a Little Shit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Totally based on the meta on that one Logan/Bobby scene in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: Mike really should have figured it out sooner(spoilery content warnings about typical kink for these two in the end notes; this is basically just porn)
Relationships: Mike Brouwer/Liam Fitzgerald
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	On Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [permets (malreves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malreves/gifts).



> For permets as part of the YCMAL holiday exchange. This is SO LATE and I am SO SORRY. Life has been happening to me with a VENGEANCE lately but I hope that this is in some way worth the wait. Since it's super late, there are probably typos and errors that I didn't catch, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy.

In hindsight, Mike is too old to have missed this many signs.

Maybe that’s the problem, though. He is old, older than he likes to remember for any length of time. Old enough that, now that he has his memories back, the little baby mutants dare each other to interview him for their papers and assignments.

Old enough that Fitzgerald should spend all his time cracking jokes at Mike’s expense—

Okay, to be fair, he does that. His tongue is as quick as the rest of him—and if Mike is too old to have missed the signs, he’s far, far too old to be thinking about Liam Fitzgerald’s tongue in any context other than how he always seems to have something to say.

But yeah, despite his jokes, Fitzgerald doesn’t seem to care about the age thing. As Mike realizes when he breaks free of his carefully constructed denial and buys a fucking clue.

“Can’t sleep?”

Only decades of carefully trained reflexes keep Mike from hitting his head on the top of the refrigerator he’s digging through. Grabbing the beer he was looking for, he turns as he twists off the cap, fast enough to catch Fitzgerald unmistakably checking out his ass.

He doesn’t even bother hiding it, the cocky little fucker, just drags his gaze up Mike’s body with a smirk, leaning back against the counter like the jailbait he’s not too far from being.

Mike returns the look, because it’s late and he’s tired and he has some dumb idea that Fitzgerald will wise up and realize he’s poking a bear. It doesn’t work that way, of course. If Mike had stopped to think for a second, he would’ve known that. Instead, Fitzgerald fucking preens, barefoot and wearing nothing but basketball shorts, like Mike’s going to touch his barely-legal ass with a ten-foot pole.

It is a nice ass, though. Mike’s tired enough to admit that, even if only to himself.

He’s completely lost the plot, somehow flustered by a fucking teenager’s clumsy attempts at flirtation. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the beer isn’t even cold.

He should leave. He should take his room-temperature beer up to his room and jerk off and maybe, finally, fall the fuck asleep. But Mike’s never claimed to be smart, so instead he holds the bottle out toward Fitzgerald, quirks a challenging eyebrow.

Instead of taking the beer, Fitgerald wraps his hand around it on top of Mike’s, his fingers looking almost slender by comparison. Leaning forward, he holds eye contact and blows into the open neck of the bottle.

Ice crystals race down the glass, chilling it under Mike’s touch. He suppresses a shiver—no point in giving Fitzgerald ideas—and pulls his hand back.

Fitzgerald lets him, but reluctantly, his fingers lingering on Mike's skin for as long as he can manage.

The touch distracts Mike enough that instead of going back to his room like he should, he lifts the beer to his mouth and takes a sip. He only realizes his mistake when he lowers the bottle.

Fitzgerald is still so close, and he licks his lips, his eyes tracking Mike's mouth. "Can't sleep?"

His voice is quieter than usual, with a rough edge that Mike hasn't heard before. Maybe it's that, maybe it's the way the adults' kitchen is lit only by a few dim lights, but suddenly the moment seems electric, tension vibrating between them like a plucked string.

If Mike were a good person, he’d leave now. But if there’s one thing he’s never in his long, long life, claimed to be, it’s a good person. He made his peace with the hell he was headed for many times over, even if it’s been a longer time coming than he expected.

So he shakes his head, takes another pull of his beer. Doesn’t back away when Fitzgerald moves in closer, close enough that Mike can feel the heat coming off his body, off the hand that lands on Mike’s arm, the sharp contrast to his powers.

“Me either.”

* * *

It’s probably pathetic to be proud that he managed to keep his hands off Fitzgerald—Liam, if they’re doing this, and they apparently are, first names are a dumb limit to balk at—until they’re behind closed doors. But hell, Mike hasn’t had that many victories lately. He’ll take what he can get.

Liam goes easily when Mike nudges him toward the bed, anticipation coming off him in waves. He’s visibly hard already, his cock tenting the basketball shorts clinging to his admittedly spectacular ass.

“You sure about this?” Mike’s voice sounds loud in his own ears, even though it really isn’t. “If you—”

Liam stops moving, shifting into Mike’s space and going up on his tiptoes. “I’ve been sure. Just waiting for you to buy a clue.”

Probably Mike should be better at resisting a challenge, but again, he never claimed to be a good person. It’s overrated anyway. A lot more fun to fist his hand in Liam’s hair, to plunder the mouth he shouldn't have been thinking about.

It's not some kind of movie-perfect kiss. Liam is eager as fuck, but a little too sloppy for perfection. When Mike backs off, he whines, low and involuntary in the back of his throat, but follows Mike's lead, lets Mike lick slowly into his mouth. 

His eyes are wide and dark when Mike pulls back this time, his mouth red and wet. He looks wrecked already, just from kissing. Mike probably shouldn't be proud of that.

"You done this before?" Mike isn't trying to make his voice gruff, it just comes out that way. "With a guy?"

Liam licks his lips. "Couple of times. I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking."

Mike tells himself he's not a little disappointed. "You know what you like?"

He barely manages to suppress the flinch as Liam's fingertips slip under the hem of the undershirt he'd thrown on to go down to the kitchen. "I know what I want." Liam goes up on tiptoe again, his mouth barely brushing against Mike's earlobe. His voice is low and rough again, and if Mike hadn't already been hard, this would be getting him there. "Want you to hold me down and fuck my brains out."

Mike's hands clench reflexively on Liam's hips, harder than he expected, but Liam just groans a little, his eyelashes fluttering. He looks so young like that, when you can't see the devilment in his eyes, the mischief that Rogers swears will be the death of him. Of course he's a kinky little fucker. Mike should have known.

"Think you can manage that?"

This time Mike does it on purpose, tightening his hands on Liam and tossing him down on the bed. "Oh, I can do it. Think you can handle it?"

Liam just smirks up at him, dragging his eyes down Mike's body to linger on his crotch. "I can handle whatever you've got."

Mike probably takes more pleasure than he should in the surprised squeak when he strips Liam's shorts off in one quick move. "We'll see about that."

Liam might be smaller than Mike, but he's wiry, solid muscle. It takes more effort than Mike would have expected to flip him over on his stomach. Part of that is that he's not making it easy, wriggling almost loose until Mike gets his wrists crossed behind his back, kneeling on his legs to hold him still. When his conscious mind catches up to the muscle memory of what just happened, he starts to loosen his grip, but Liam shakes his head as best he can where it's pressed against the mattress.

"Don't. I want—like this."

Seriously. Kinky little fucker. Mike's almost impressed. 

Of course, this presents a conundrum, but if Mike stretches, he' can just reach the drawer with the lube and condoms, with the added benefit of using his weight to press Liam into the mattress. He puts the condom on first, because he's not an idiot, but when he manages, clumsily, to lube up his fingers, it slips inside Liam almost without resistance.

"I'm ready." Liam's voice is muffled against the bed, flush spreading down his neck in stark contrast to his casual tone. "You can just—"

He cuts off when Mike pulls out and smacks his ass. Not hard, but enough to make a noise, enough to sting. 

"I'll be the judge of that." Mike squeezes the hand around his wrists, comes back with two fingers. 

Liam wasn't wrong, is the thing. He's already slick and open, blood-hot inside. Mike drags fingertips over his prostate, just to watch the little fucker writhe under him. Just to get some of his own back, because he has a sneaking suspicion he knows who has the upper hand here and it's not him.

The third finger goes in just as easily, and Mike can admit he's stalling, if only to himself. When he lines himself up, he slides in to the hilt in one long, slick slide, Liam's body letting him in with only the slightest resistance.

"Yeah." Liam groans the word out, pushing back like he's trying to get Mike in deeper, his fingers flexing where Mike holds his hands. "C'mon, fuck me."

Mike smacks him again, harder this time, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head at the way Liam clenches around him. "You're not calling the shots here, brat."

"Oh yeah?" This time when Liam goes tight around him, it's on purpose. 

It just about kills him, but Mike stays still for a full minute, counting down in his head and slowing his breathing, leaning more and more of his weight on Liam to stop his increasingly frantic movements.

He's almost done, barely holding onto control, when Liam whimpers. "Please."

And hell, Mike believes in rewarding good behavior. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't have any blood left in his brain.

It's hard to get much range of motion, but the shallow, grinding strokes let him hit Liam's prostate every time, judging by the sounds coming from his mouth. Mike's holding onto control a little more shakily than usual, but he'll be damned if he comes before the literal teenager.

He's definitely going to hell, but the view along the way sure is nice.

Mike gets his free hand on the back of Liam's neck, pressing him just a little further into the mattress, and it only takes a couple more thrusts until Liam goes taut under him, clamping down on Mike's cock as he comes. 

He's probably oversensitive, Mike should probably pull out, but he's so close he can taste it. Mike lets go, gets his hands on Liam's hips, and fucks into him fast and hard, chasing his own orgasm until it's almost a surprise when it hits.

Managing not to collapse directly on top of Liam takes the last of Mike's motor skills. He's still about half on top of him, but Liam doesn't seem to be complaining. And he's definitely still breathing, his heart rabbiting under Mike's arm.

Eventually Mike forces himself to get up and deal with the condom. He hesitates in the bathroom after he washes his hands. On the one hand, he shouldn't have done any of this, and he should definitely kick Liam's unfortunately spectacular ass right out. On the other hand, appearances to the contrary, Mike isn't a complete asshole, and he's aware that Liam might need a little bit more from him right now.

Cursing himself for a soft touch, he wets a cloth with warm water and heads back into the bedroom. Liam managed to make his way onto his back—and out of the wet spot, of course. He looks entirely too comfortable in Mike's bed, and entirely too well-fucked to go wandering through the halls of the mansion, even if it is the middle of the night. 

He blinks his eyes open and smiles, slow and smug when he sees Mike. "You gonna stand there and stare at me all night? Or are you gonna come to bed?"

The little fucker is inviting him into his own goddamn bed. 

Mike crosses to the bed and climbs up until he can bracket Liam with his bod. "It's my room."

"I know." Liam stretches luxuriantly, because of course he does. "Nice bed, too."

"You ready for sleep?"

Liam smirks up at him. "I'm not the old man here."

Oh, that's it. Mike leans down, dropping the cloth off the edge of the bed onto the floor. He keeps his eyes on Liam's face, so he gets to see that smug smile fall off when Mike drags his tongue over one of the streaks of drying come on Liam's chest. "Old man, huh? At least I'm not a mouthy little brat."

He barely nips at Liam's nipple, more of a light pinch than anything, but he's very, very grateful that all of the adult bedrooms are soundproof.

By the time he finishes cleaning up every last drop, Liam is whimpering and writhing under him. His cock is fully hard again, so red it looks almost painful.

Mike has to admit, it's been awhile since he heard something as satisfying as the moan Liam lets out when Mike's mouth closes over his cock. 

It looks like he's in for a long night, but that's all right. He can sleep another time.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Liam asks Mike to hold him down and fuck his brains out. Mike does so, but consent is established verbally.
> 
> I like writing about idiot hockey boys (even when they're X-men, apparently?) and if you like reading about them, you might want to check out [my author tumblr](http://ariel-bishop.tumblr.com) or my main tumblr. 
> 
> I hoard comments like a dragon hoards anything vaguely shiny! I love to hear what you thought!


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